The home that Mangesh Lungare built for his parents in a remote village in Maharashtra showcases where he is from and where he is now

(Right) Interior and architectural designer Mangesh Lungare on the kadappa-clad steps that lead to the terrace of the home in Dudhalwadi he designed for his parents; (Left) A pine screen shields this passage between two bedrooms, creating a bright, well-ventilated reading area, which features a ‘CH25’ lounge chair by Hans J Wegner, restored and upholstered in saddle leather.

The houses of Dudhalwadi are crumbling. Most are ramshackle. Some—in typical rural Indian spirit—are painted bright, like pastries you’d think twice about eating. Others have bicycles hanging nonchalantly on their walls. If this was Mumbai, this would’ve have been art. Oh yes. But Dudhalwadi is far, far away from Mumbai in every sense of the word. It’s never made news. Perhaps it doesn’t want to. Perhaps, for the villagers, it doesn’t matter. Many things don’t in this quiet village in Maharashtra, where, when night falls, you sit under its starlit skies in the middle of a chickpea field, roasting and devouring millet from a crackling bonfire.

Set just off the approach to the village of Dudhalwadi in Maharashtra, this house, designed by Mangesh Lungare for his parents, maintains a balance between privacy and comfort, while retaining its connection to village life and the surrounding hills

GREEN OASIS

So, about three years ago, when large trucks reached its desolate roads, and cranes appeared carrying full-grown trees, the villagers of Dudhalwadi queued up on its many hillocks. What was happening? What were they building? A fort? A hotel? A fort hotel? You didn’t see many of these around though. But what shook Dudhalwadi that summer was actually just a home. Though conspicuous from a distance by its slatted wooden screens and black basalt stone, the house wasn’t, by any means, an invasion—neither in its being nor in its intention. It was neither a holiday home nor a city-dweller’s summertime escape. The house wasn’t by an outsider. The house was by one of them.

Photo Caption | Compactness and accessibility were essential for the elderly residents—reflected here in the open-plan layout of the house. The furniture is by Alibag Studio; the stone Nandi on the coffee table was locally made.

MIND YOUR LANGUAGE

Conformism never suited Mangesh Lungare—not at 18, when he suddenly decided he wanted to design homes; not when he was 24 and chose, instead of studying, to wait tables at a London restaurant; and certainly not today, when, in his 30s, he effortlessly switches between his dual personas of south Mumbai-residing, cafe-visiting hipster to shuddh shakahari (purely vegetarian), dhaba-frequenting local boy. For someone whose familial expertise centred largely on farming, interior design was a rare choice of career. Rarer still was moving continents to learn it. But much water has flowed under the bridge since the fateful day he saw an interior design sketch in the hands of one his college mates. “Do you need to know English to do that?” he had asked.

Photo Caption | The openness of the house allows for smooth transitions—from the entrance to the courtyard to the living room. Recycled wood was used to construct the frames for the doors and windows

WORLDLY WISE

You did, but Lungare, who had only communicated in Marathi till then, was determined. In class, where the medium of instruction was English, his hands would deftly make architectural models, his fingers would swiftly produce sketches, and his mind would conceptualize accurate space plans. Theory, though, was always a bother, and English, a nightmare that soured his dreams.

Still, he managed to earn his degree, and, a couple of years later, found himself waiting tables at an Italian restaurant in London. But life sometimes surprises you, and when the owner of the restaurant discovered that one of his waiters was a trained designer, he promptly hired him to help redesign the space. Eight years later, in 2013, when Lungare came back to India to start his own practice, he was equipped with a worldly design sense as well as fluent English.

Photo Caption | The banana trees at the entrance are from the nearby family farm. The entrance is a literal twist on traditional layout principles: a north-facing gate with steps that curve to the right to allow for an east-facing door and added privacy. The door is a replica of one that stood in the family’s ancestral village home

PRESENT PERFECT TENSE

At Dudhalwadi, where I meet him, we sit on the low boundary wall of the Stone House, which he has just finished building for his parents. The interior designer, who spends his time between Mumbai and Alibag, is wearing Tommy Hilfiger, a disarming smile and an air of humility that is evident when he interrupts me mid-conversation to ask how to pronounce ‘dessert’. “Desert or dessert? Pfft,” he rolls his eyes, laughs, and says, “This rubbish accent I have,” before switching to Marathi. His comment belies the fact that he knows he has an almost-perfect London accent.

Photo Caption | Shaded by an overhead canopy, a swing sits at one edge of the courtyard; the colours of the upholstery mimic local palas flowers

OPEN HOUSE

The old house that once stood here had single-brick-thick walls, and a lone fluorescent tube shared across its two rooms. The Stone House is two-storeyed, has two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a living area, a terrace, a courtyard, a pool, and well, 94 light bulbs. “Why do we need 94 light bulbs?” his father had asked, bemused. The extravagance was considered unnecessary, but Lungare got his way. “Unlike with my other clients,” he laughs. But he was determined to make the space comfortable for his ageing parents. Right by the entrance is a swing, upholstered in pink—inspired by one of his mother’s childhood memories. It is now her favourite spot. The living area and the bedrooms are connected via gradually sloping ramps—for a time when its residents might find walking a hard task. On the indoor facade of the house is perhaps its most defining characteristic: an 18-foot-high wooden screen that rises beyond the height of the house, entwined with a flowering madhumalti creeper.

Photo Caption | The terrace offers spectacular views throughout the year. The rafters, which provide some protection from the sun, will eventually act as a trellis once the vegetation from the lower levels grows up and over the top.

CONTEMPORARY AESTHETIC

The fact that this is a home in rural Maharashtra is hard to believe—it could be anywhere in the world, such is its contemporaneity. But there are quiet ways Dudhalwadi has crept in. It is built with basalt sourced from the quarry close by. Inside, local copper utensils line the walls and kitchen counters. And a single-file staircase, reminiscent of those in rural Indian houses, leads up to a terrace. “All my houses have those steps,” the designer states. Lungare’s upbringing in a village is subconsciously embedded in this house. The fact that he is completely unaware of it is refreshing. This is a mind still willing to learn, to make mistakes.

Photo Caption | A 12-foot-tall basalt wall offers privacy for the pool; the date palm trees were brought in as a low-maintenance form of shade

BE WATER, MY FRIEND

“What if there is a break-in?” Lungare’s parents would worry earlier. “Then they will come in and take things. I hope they don’t take you,” their exasperated son would joke. He says, “I told them to invite everyone in, and let them see that there is nothing to take.” The initial anxieties are at bay now. The only thing his mother hasn’t warmed up to yet is swimming in the pool. “Just lock the door and swim,” her son encourages her. For Lungare, swimming in unknown waters is important—literally and metaphorically. It’s what he has done all his life.